


The Augerey

by bellatrix_black_Lestrange (bellatrix_black_lestrange)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: F/M, Heir of Slytherin, Malfoy Manor, Ritual Public Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 22:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7732378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellatrix_black_lestrange/pseuds/bellatrix_black_Lestrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Voldemort calls all of his Death Eaters to Malfoy Manor to witness the creation of his heir. It is the dawning of a new age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Augerey

**Author's Note:**

> (I have reached a new Bellamort low. Let us all look at my Ao3 username and cackle.) I may add another chapter to this fic. Despite the inconsistencies surrounding Delphi Riddle (Lestrange?) I must note that during the events of Deathly Hallows, Voldemort confines the Malfoys and Bellatrix to the manor. It can be presumed that the birth of Delphi is the reason why.

It was dark and unseasonably stormy the night the ritual was to take place. The air around the manor was humid and heavy, and its thickness could be felt even inside. All of the Death Eaters were convened at Malfoy Manor, filling the many rooms that went unoccupied most of the time. The house that usually held a family and its staff, had only been housing just two. Lucius was in Azkaban, and Draco was off at school. It had been just Narcissa and her sister Bellatrix for the past few months, but her life was now full of conversation and activity.

The Lord rarely showed himself. He kept to his attic chambers, where no one was to go unless called. If anyone had been beckoned, they did not say anything. No one knew why they were called, but knew they had to stay there until further notice.   
The days did not drag, however. It was like a bizarre family reunion. There was much to celebrate with the death of Albus Dumbledore. But the Dark Lord would not call them all just for a party. Everyone asked Narcissa about Draco, how he was doing at Hogwarts while they all visited at the manor, as if they were his uncles and aunts. To Narcissa, it was almost like a continuous party in which she was their gracious and beloved hostess. But something was off. 

Narcissa had no idea why she was hosting and why so long. Bellatrix was not often seen, but it had yet to be confirmed whether she was spending time with the Dark Lord or on her own. She said little when they were together, but she seemed very pleased, almost smug. Whether that was indicative of any situation could not be told. Since she returned from Azkaban, Narcissa found her sisters motivations impossible to understand. She would often rave with a fervor and then just trail off, as if distracted or beckoned by a strange force. She would laugh at random and stare where there appeared to be nothing at all. Narcissa was ashamed to say she sometimes regretted having her sister back. Throughout their childhood, Bellatrix took the majority of the blows from their father Cygnus, but he was never able to break her. Azkaban had. And Narcissa did not entirely know the person who came back.  
Rodolphus, however, was seen quite often cavorting with his brother Rabastan. Azkaban had changed him, but he made a pointed effort to enjoy himself despite it. The Lestrange brothers were the life of the party during the evenings. Nobody really dared ask Rodolphus about his wife. He seemed more or less okay, and no one wanted to question.

There was Antonin Dolohov’s pretty, red-haired wife Irina, who Narcissa had always had quite the liking for, but never found much time to talk to, who Narcissa found company with. She had a small son, Alexey waiting for her at home with their house-elves. Irina had asked about Lucius, and though she meant well, Narcissa could not bring herself to say anything. She told Irina to stop at once, and the subject was put to bed. She secretly envied when Antonin would dote on her, the way they would make a toast with firewhiskey and knock the glass back with their arms inter-twined in Russian drinking fashion. 

The days drifted by aimlessly, and one night they all felt their dark marks buzz. Bellatrix was nowhere to be found, otherwise she would have been the first to mention something, to force them all to assemble in the main hall at once. Still, they all gathered promptly at the long stone table, and left the seat at the head, and the one to its right empty for the Lord and his first lieutenant. They all sat at attention in their high-backed chairs, and silence fell over the hall.

There was a tense silence while they waited until eventually, someone began to descend the grand staircase. It was Bellatrix, in a long, black silk robe that was veined with red and silver, and had a long train that slid down the steps behind her. She walked slowly, erectly, and with her head high in the air, as though she was going to her coronation. After Azkaban, Bella had looked withered and sallow, but now it appeared as though her great beauty had returned. Narcissa could not put her finger on it. Her face still appeared as gaunt and harsh as it always was, but she looked positively luminous and moved with a grace that she hadn’t in a long time. When she reached the table, Bellatrix did not sit down in her reserved spot.

The Dark Lord followed shortly behind her. Nagini the snake slithered at his feet. Voldemort climbed down the stairs at a much slower pace. He liked to keep them waiting. Bella looked serene in her waiting. Her eyes, for once, almost looked kind. When the Dark Lord finally took his place at the head of the table, Bellatrix parted her lips and drew in a long breath, almost as if she were nervous.

“Now,” Voldemort began in his gravelly hiss “tonight we begin a new chapter. A great enemy, Albus Dumbledore has been vanquished to the shadows. We celebrate our victory with a fiercer effort to my cause.” The Dark Lord always spoke above the heads of the Death Eaters, as if he occupied a holier plane than them. But now he looked them straight on.

“I will have an heir.” Voldemort proclaimed. His voice echoed off the walls, and everyone watched with bated breath. “And I have found a suitable host.” Bellatrix seemed to grow several centimeters taller, though she had not moved. It would be her. There was not a single other person he could pick. Alecto Carrow? Hardly. Not Irina, and definitely not herself. Narcissa’s eyes widened, but she did not dare even contradict him in thought, lest the Dark Lord hear her disapproval in the crevices of her mind. Years ago, Narcissa wished her sister and brother-in-law would have children. She wanted a little niece or nephew to practice on before becoming a mother herself. After Bellatrix’s return from Azkaban, Narcissa stopped wishing she would get to be an aunt. 

Bella cracked a proud smile. Narcissa swore she could see the glassiness of tears in her eyes. They were tears of pride and madness. The Dark Lord took Bellatrix’s hand in his and raised it above their heads. 

“Lestrange.” Voldemort turned to the younger brother, Rodolphus. “You have no children. And now I will sow one in your wife. You will surely be glad of the honor.”

“All of you” Voldemort’s voice boomed through the hall “will be witness to, and the couriers of a new age. And age where impurity will finally be erased. And Bellatrix, my best lieutenant, she will be the dawn given the honor to bring my heir into existence. For her diligence, strength, and blood most pure she has been rewarded. What better mother for my most-powerful child?”

Now Narcissa understood why her sister carried herself like a queen. Her blood burned hot. This was entirely not right. She squeezed her own wrist under the table, while her face kept its icy veneer. She nodded, as if in approval and gratitude of her new nephew.

“Now Bella. Give me your arm.”

Bellatrix let the silk sleeve of her robe collect at her elbow, and handed handed her own dagger, a silver throwing-knife with an onyx handle, over to the Dark Lord. He dug the blade into her forearm, and rubies of fresh blood spilled from the opening in the skin. Voldemort collected it in a chalice made of obsidian. He then raised his own arm and scored his flesh with the blade. His blood oozed out into the chalice, viscous, nearly black. The Death Eaters could smell it in the air. With a flick of his wand, Voldemort mixed it together. Then a shower of light burst out the tip of his wand and collected in the glass. He swirled it around like a fine burgundy and brought it to Bellatrix’s lips while muttering an incantation. She tipped half the glass into her mouth. It coated her tongue and dripped metallic and hot down her throat. The remnants clung to her lips. She licked it off as if she savored the taste.

The Dark Lord handed the glass off to Bellatrix, who gave the other half of the spell while bringing the glass to her master’s lips. He swiftly drank the other half of their combined blood, showing neither pleasure nor distaste. Bellatrix drew in several deep breaths to try and slow her pounding heartbeat. Her eyes glittered with desire and wonder. Voldemort looked on as Bellatrix stepped on top of the table. She looked truly her most regal.

“Strip now.” Voldemort ordered plainly. With the pull of the tie at her waist, Bellatrix undid the robe. The black silk slid easily off of her shoulders and pooled at her feet. Under the candlelight of their grand chandelier, Bellatrix stood exposed for all her friends, colleagues, and peers. She stood proudly, her face showing just the slightest bit of smugness, as if to say she’s bested them all with her loyalty to the Dark Lord. It was the first time Narcissa had seen her older sister unclothed in decades. She was marred with more scars now, and a tattooed prisoner number from Azkaban. Even when seemingly vulnerable, Bellatrix was fearsome. Her well-defined muscles rippled her skin. She looked dangerous, as if she and the Dark Lord were not producing a child, but building a weapon.

The Dark Lord stepped on top of the great stone table next to Bella, who immediately dropped to her knees. She bowed her head, and some of her thick, dark curls tumbled forward over her shoulders and breasts. He lifted Bellatrix’s head up, keeping a tight grip on her sharp jaw. With his other hand, he reached into his robes and brought his member out from behind the cloth. For a moment, everyone expected to see him take out a wand. What little color she had drained from Narcissa’s pale face.

Bellatrix took her Lord into her mouth first. He he held his boney, taloned hand at the back of her head while she moved her lips up and down his shaft. Voldemort showed no signs of pleasure, but he had to be feeling something, as his cock began to stand. Rodolphus locked a stone-cold stare upon his wife and their Master. He knew the slightest change in his expression would be scrutinized, and attributed to a softness of heart or weakness. Though they enthusiastically shared a bed and pleasured each other often enough, the Lestranges had agreed that there would be no children. Bella maintained that she would only extinguish life, not create it. Now she was going back on her word.

With her lips and tongue, Bellatrix brought her master to a full erection. Voldemort’s hardened cock was so hot for a man so especially cold. The Dark Lord cupped his hand around the back of her neck, and laid Bellatrix down on the table with a thorough kind of care. The stone was beautifully cool on her bare skin. All the Death Eaters looked on but Bella looked only up at him. Usually, Bella preferred pain at the hands of her Lord. She preferred to show him just how much his Most Loyal could endure for him. The great pleasure she took in it was a testament to her strength. Voldemort could bruise her and leave his mark on her in more ways than the brand she wore, the snake-and-skull Dark Mark tattoo on her wrist. He pushed her legs apart. Thinking of the coming bliss, of her master, Bellatrix was already so wet that her lord could slide himself right into her. When he entered, Bellatrix closed her eyes. She wished to shut off all senses and feel nothing but her Lord.

All her life, Narcissa had never seen anyone but her husband like this. She never watched others have sex. She was ashamed and amused to be looking on. The others seemed oblivious or delighted. They looked as though they were watching something ordinary.

The Dark Lord wrapped his slender, frighteningly long hands around Bella’s thighs. His yellowed, clawlike nails dug into her flesh. He rocked deeper into his most loyal, stroking himself with her insides. She followed his every move. While Voldemort was silent, Bella was not. She let herself gasp and moan in response to his strokes, and even let out a single girlish whimper. Hearing her yelp seemed to finally strike something in the Dark Lord beyond his desire to make an heir. He ran a nail down the pale, graceful length of her neck. Bellatrix shivered with delight. He grabbed her wrist and began to stroke her Dark Mark. The Mark was the first time Voldemort had left some of himself inside her, and now he was about to once again.  
Grabbing her by the waist, Voldemort shoved himself harder into Bellatrix. She could not help a loud gasp. Bella pressed her palms into the table and lifted her hips up off of it so she could best receive him. Pleasure washed over the Dark Lord’s face. It was amusing and terrifying to see him briefly lose himself to his Lieutenant, to appear human just for a second, like he was capable of turning himself over to absolute pleasure.

The two were moving fast and hard while their peers looked on, stone-faced. Their momentum grew until it reached its zenith, and Voldemort erupted. The noise he emitted was truly terrible, and the Death Eaters, no matter how loyal to his cause, shifted uncomfortably. The bloodcurdling sound of that very moment was the beginning of a new dark dynasty. Bellatrix had been permitted to climax too. A tear or two slipped down Bellatrix’s cut-marble cheekbones. Only Rodolphus had ever seen Madame Lestrange cry—in Azkaban, and only after he shed tears first. She blushed scarlet and appeared absolutely subdued. Voldemort gathered his Bellatrix in his arms. She buried his face in his neck, and he carried her up the stairs, leaving his Death Eaters to deal with the act they had just witnessed.


End file.
